


In the Aftermath of Death

by hailthetrashlord



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailthetrashlord/pseuds/hailthetrashlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the dead of night, it's strange who you will turn to for comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Aftermath of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off of [this](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/105868489743/imagine-your-otp-having-a-sleepover-and-person-a) prompt bc I’m trash. Edited by my ride or die, serena. Enjoy some murven, xo.

There is no sound as Murphy steps out of his tent; only the sound of shifting pebbles beneath his boots meets his ears. A thick silence had fallen over Camp Jaha since Clarke had stepped back through the fence with hands that were stained red with Finn’s blood, and even though the moon is still low in the night sky it seems as though everyone has already gone to bed.

 _Everyone’s probably too chicken shit to see a crying Princess_ , Murphy thinks to himself as he starts walking towards the fence. He rolls his eyes at the realization that everyone in camp would be coddling Clarke for weeks, as though she had been the one stabbed rather than the one doing the stabbing. Clarke would put on a brave face, and then when two kids got into a fist fight, she’d go on and on about how ‘we are civilized people.’  _As though she’s not as savage as the rest of us._

He reaches the fence, and stares out at the flickering fires of the Grounder camp that is still set up alongside their own and wonders if any of them are staring back at him with a distrustful gaze that matches his own. He shakes the thought as he begins his nightly routine and begins to walk.

When he’d first arrived at camp, he’d taken to sitting in a chair in his tent with a knife in his hand as he drifted between nightmares throughout the night. Eventually he’d stopped sleeping at night at all as more people that wanted him dead kept arriving and his paranoia won out. Yet, night after night he’d sit and watch the tent flap, waiting for someone to attack him for the things he’d done, and night after night  it didn’t happen, it began to feel as though the walls were closing in on him. 

So he’d taken to walking the border of the camp at night, keeping an eye out for things lurking not only outside the camp but inside as well. Only a fool would trust others to take care of them, he’d learned that at a young age when his mother had stared at him with hatred in her eyes. 

He’s snapped back to the present as he hears a sound coming from the rocks by the border. His eyes narrow as he stares at the rocks, trying to make something out in the dark and growing irritated when he can’t. He moves closer, slowly, so as not to startle whatever it is. He grips his knife tightly in hand as he nears the rocks when he notices that one isn’t a rock at all.

"Raven? What the hell are you doing out here?"

She looks up at him with eyes that look glassy in the moonlight, and he swears that there’s wetness on her cheeks but he doesn’t acknowledge it because if he does then he’d have to  _do_ something about it, and fuck if he knows what to do with a crying woman. 

"Get the hell away from me." Her voice is hard, and he feels his irritation level rise. 

"Why Murphy, thank you for your concern," he mimics her in a terrible girl voice. "I’m so glad you stopped to ask why I’m sitting near a fence practically begging to be eaten by some wild animal. Not to mention killed by one of our many enemies!" He gasps and places a hand to his chest. "Oh, stop it Ray, I’m just here to help."

She just glares at him, and he returns her look with a blank stare. They stare at each other for what feels like minutes, both of them refusing to back down. Finally she lets out a sigh and stares out between the wires of the fence, the moon casting shadows across her skin.

"Just leave me alone, Murphy." Her voice is quiet, and he knows that he should just walk away and leave her to her thoughts. But there’s also another part of him that knows how easy it is to drown in memories that you can’t change, and how hard it is to stop thinking. So he sits beside her, ignoring the way the stones dig into the fabric of his jeans. She looks over at him in shock, before getting angry once more. "I said. Leave. Me.  _Alone_.” 

"Look, Gearhead. I get it, you watched your ex-boyfriend die." She opens her mouth, most likely to respond with something pointless, so he holds up a finger and continues. "I  _get it_. But sitting out here is like asking to get killed, especially with the grounders still uneasy.”

"I can take care of-"

"Sure you can, that’s why you’ve clearly got a death wish." They’re silent for a moment, and he can feel anger radiating off her in waves, and it’s almost like he can’t help himself. "I mean, shit. If you really wanted to die all you had to do was tell me. I’ve been looking for a second in my murder-suicide pact for some time now."

She lets out a laugh that sounds more like choking than anything, and they both seemed stunned by it. He lets out a quiet laugh of his own, surprised that someone on Earth even found him funny. God only knows no one else does. A look almost akin to guilt crosses her face and he’s about to try for another joke when she bursts into tears.

She buries her face in her hands, and if it weren’t for the shaking of her shoulders he probably wouldn’t even know she was crying. He blinks at her several times, unsure what to do because this girl is  _crying_ and he has no fucking clue what to  _do_ about it. He looks around for someone, _anyone_ , who would be able to help her but of course fate has a twisted sense of humor.

"Shit, I-" He runs a hand through his dirty hair, tugging on it slightly as he tries to think.  _Dosomethingdosomethingdosomething._ “Raven, you- I… Uh-“

She mumbles something that almost sounds like _go away_ but it’s too distorted through her sobs for him to really tell. He considers, his whole body tensing to stand, but fuck if he doesn’t know what she’s feeling. He felt it when he was thirteen, and he woke up from his flu to find that his father had been floated while he was burning from a fever. 

"Bleeding fucking hearts unite," he says dryly, and then he grabs her by her arm and tugs her against his chest. Her whole body goes stiff, and he feels her hands push against his chest, but he  _knows_ and holds her tighter to him. “You’re fine, no one’s watching. You’re okay.” She struggles against him once more before he feels her hands clench into fists against the fabric of his t-shirt and then she’s crying again. 

He buries a hand in her hair and holds her head against his chest as the other locks around her shoulders. She’s a mess, mumbling things between sobs about Finn and how he’s gone, and he can feel her tears soaking through his shirt.

He doesn’t speak, because he knows that words do not fix it. Words do not bring back the dead, if so maybe he wouldn’t have ended up alone with only insomnia and a gun for friends. So he holds her, his fingers occasionally running through her hair as she cries. 

He’s not really sure how long they sit there, but eventually her sobs turn to hyperventilating, and eventually she is silent against him. The moon is now on the opposite side of the sky, and he knows that it will be daylight soon. He loosens his grip on her shoulders, trying not to wince at the pain in his elbow as he moves it for the first time in hours. He looks down and sees that she’s fallen asleep; her face is peaceful except for a crease between her eyebrows, and he gently smooths it over with his thumb automatically. 

He realizes what he’s doing and shakes his head. _Snap out if, John. You’re not friends._ He reaches beneath her to grab hold of her legs and stands, walking in the direction of his tent. He knows that she shares a tent with one of the Arkers, and he’s not stupid enough to believe that they won’t be suspicious if he carries an unconscious Raven into her tent in the middle of the night. 

So he takes her to his own, and lays her out across his bed. He throws his ratty blanket over her and stares at her for a moment to make sure she’s asleep before he slips his wet t-shirt over his head. He drops it onto the chair and grabs his jacket, slipping it on and zipping it up. He then sits on the ground by the foot of the bed and stares at the ceiling of the tent; realizing that for the first time in a while, the walls are not closing in on him.


End file.
